Crows and Griffons
by hawke-in-hightown
Summary: "A Cousland always does their duty." He has lived by these words his entire life. Now Stryder is a fabled Grey Warden, and duty is more important than ever. When an Antivan Crow is sent to assassinate him and fails, he soon finds that there is more to Zevran Arainai than what meets the eye. Now, with the Blight at hand and civil war around the corner, can their young love survive?
1. Prologue

**AN: Hello, everyone. Before I begin the story, I'd like to say a few words. First of all, I do not claim to own any of the characters from the Dragon Age series. Second of all, this story will include TWO MEN HAVING A HEALTHY, SEMI-EROTIC RELATIONSHIP. If you can't handle that, then I suggest clicking the back button, because I will not tolerate any kind of homophobia on my page WHATSOEVER. Also, if you're squeamish or pure-minded, you have been warned.**

 **And now, on with the story!**

* * *

Prologue

* * *

Every part of him, mind and body, was completely numb.

Blood soaked his leather armor from a wound in his shoulder. He barely felt the arrow, even though it was lodged quite deep in his skin. All he could see in the night were those black plumes of smoke rising above the fires that burned down Castle Cousland. His home. All he could hear were the screams of his father's soldiers as they were slaughtered in their desperate defense. The smell of blood and burning flesh clouded the air and made it hard to breathe.

"Your Lordship, we must make haste."

The Grey Warden Duncan sheathed his sword, still stained red from the attack. The old man was clearly a seasoned fighter, but the same could be said for the others of his order. Or so the rumors said.

"I'm not a lord, anymore," came the reply, the young Cousland's voice devoid of all emotion. "Call me Stryder."

It had all happened so fast. His father, the teyrn of Highever, had sent the bulk of their forces south to answer the king's call for battle. Howe— the treacherous bastard— had known they would be defenseless without the castle soldiers. And he had tricked them into a false sense of security.

 _Damn him._

It was a massacre to the fullest extent of the word. Blood seeped between the cobblestones paving the castle halls and formed scarlet pools at every corner. Corpses scattered across the halls, some fresher than others, but all innocent victims of a single madman. Soon, his ancestral home would be little more than a graveyard. The women unlucky enough to survive would be raped and the men tortured; their children would be sold into slavery and shipped to Antiva or the Imperium, never to be seen again. Death would be a mercy for the few that were left.

Alas, poor Dairren. He had been one of the first to fall at the arl's hands. It was an arrow meant for Stryder, but the bookish nobleman had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. At least Stryder and his mother had been given a fighting chance at survival; that was robbed of Dairren from the moment it began.

 _If I hadn't invited him to my bed, perhaps he and Lady Landra could have escaped before it was too late..._

Duncan bowed curtly. "The Arl's men will, no doubt, be searching for any survivors. If we leave for Ostagar now, we may be able to outrun them."

Stryder's mabari, Magnus, whined loudly. The two men became aware of another presence lurking amidst the trees. Duncan tensed, grabbing the hilt of his dagger before taking a step forward.

"Show yourself," Duncan called, edging closer. There was no reply.

In an instant, Duncan had swept past the trees and taken the person by the neck. He held the dagger to their throat, his brown eyes cold and calculating. Even so, he was polite enough to keep them alive, despite their struggling.

"Wha—? Get off me!"

"Are you one of Howe's men?" Stryder asked, finding his voice. He stood up shakily and walked over to where Duncan had him restrained. Stryder ripped off the hood of the individual's cloak and was surprised to find a rather annoyed looking elf with rather hawkish features. That was good enough for him; Howe would never allow an elf to join his personal army. Not that they would want to, from the way he treated them.

"Certainly not," the elf snapped. His dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and though he carried a bow of Dalish craft, he did not have the markings of a clan elf. "I haven't done anything wrong. Release me at once!"

Stryder looked to Duncan. The Grey Warden nodded and pulled back from the elf. There was a thin sheen of sweat across the elf's brow, barely noticeable but nonetheless present. He stood up and brushed himself off, then extended a hand in greeting.

"Name's Berwick. Now what in the Maker's name is going on around here?"

 _An elf, speaking of the Maker? Strange._ Stryder thought to himself, accepting the gesture carefully. "The castle is under siege."

"So I see," Berwick nodded towards the arrow in his shoulder. "You must be abandoning the fray. Smart. No shame in living, eh?"

Stryder stiffened. Fresh blood dripped from the wound, which didn't serve to help his growing irritation. Duncan took over quickly, lest the young lord lose his temper.

"I presume you are a traveler, then? Perhaps you would consider joining us."

"And just where are you going?" Berwick inquired with a hint of suspicion.

"Ostagar. I am a Grey Warden in the service of King Cailan," came Duncan's response. "The king could use all the help he could get in these dark times, and I'm sure you would be a welcomed addition."

Berwick raised his eyebrows. "Grey Wardens? Then the rumors are true. Apologies, ser Warden, but I have no desire to join the army. I like living, after all."

"I see. Then I advise you spend the night elsewhere; this place is will soon be overrun with the arl's soldiers, and they have no mercy for anyone unfortunate enough to cross their paths," Duncan sighed.

Berwick's gaze flitted between them. He seemed to be measuring them. Duncan tilted his head slightly, frowning. His dark complexion was uncommon in Ferelden, and often unfairly served to intimidate the fair-skinned natives. Stryder simply thought the man was interesting... he carried an air of nobility, despite his humble demeanor. It was admirable, really.

"Of course. Maker's Blessings upon you, Grey Warden. Be safe," Berwick nodded, pulling his emerald hood over his head before disappearing into the forest once more.

Stryder watched Duncan with some amount of confusion.

"You could have used the right of conscription on him," Stryder said, frowning. _Like you did with me, in the castle larder._ "If you're so desperate for recruits, why did you let him get away?"

"He had no desire to become a Grey Warden or take part in the upcoming battles; I would not force our fate upon a man who does not wish to sacrifice everything for peace in Thedas. And as I recall, you were more than eager to join the Order at our first meeting," Duncan answered.

Judging from the look on his face, the senior Warden knew exactly what had passed through Stryder's head. And it was true; he had begged his father to let him go with Duncan. Now he only wished to be dead alongside his family.

" _In death, sacrifice,_ young Stryder. Your parents died to protect you. They were willing to give their own lives to see that you lived out your own," Duncan put a hand on his shoulder sympathetically. "I understand loss more than you could ever know. But for the sake of your family, carry on. Don't let their sacrifice be for nothing."

Duncan's eyes softened. Stryder's throat closed, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent the tears in his eyes from spilling over.

"I... I understand."

The senior Warden nodded, and then the moment was over. The sound of shouting could be heard in the distance as Howe's personal army moved on to torment the villagers. Fury bubbled inside of him. How many people had to suffer before it ended?

Magnus barked and began trotting down the dirt road leading out of Highever. He seemed to understand that fleeing was the best option, despite what that meant. Duncan marched after the hound, his expression perfectly stoic. Or perhaps guarded was a word better suited to the older man; considering what they had both endured, it was no surprise to find his wary gaze on the path before them.

Stryder glanced one last time over his shoulder. His heart sank at the sight of his home, his beloved Highever, as it went down in flames. He had been born in that castle, walked those halls countless times, and now it was all gone. Because of one man's betrayal, so many lives were lost or changed forever.

The Couslands were gone... and he was the only survivor.

In a moment of anger, Stryder foolishly pulled the arrow out of his shoulder. White-hot pain erupted through his chest as the iron head was torn out, ripping flesh in the process; but he welcomed it. That pain meant he had escaped the castle intact, that he still had the ability to feel. Howe hadn't won yet. He would return with the force of a wildfire to tear apart everything the traitorous snake held dear. Grey Warden or not, he would do more than just survive.

 _He was justice._

 _He was vengeance._

He was Stryder Cousland, and he was ready to face his destiny.


	2. Chapter I- Lothering

**AN: Back again for the first official chapter in the fic! Just a disclaimer, _certain parts of the 'original' story-line will be changed_. This is NOT to claim ownership of _Dragon Age_ or any of its characters, but simply because this is my Warden's story (and sometimes I can't help myself, haha.) This is the life he has lived, and I will defend that. Otherwise, I'll try to update regularly. I look forward to hearing feedback from anyone who happens across this book! **

**HOMOPHOBIA AND RACISM WILL NOT BE TOLERATED, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. THANK YOU!**

* * *

Chapter I- Lothering

* * *

"So this is Lothering?" Stryder said, raising an eyebrow. "I always pictured it larger."

Alistair stopped beside him, adjusting the straps that held his shield in place. He looked around. "So did these refugees, apparently."

Makeshift camps had been set up as far as the eye could see. The tents were battered and torn and each with at least three people inside. Those who remained outside by the campfires appeared haggard, as if they hadn't slept or eaten in days. The refugees watched them with equal parts suspicion and interest as their party passed by.

Stryder frowned, pitying them. These people must have lived in the villages outside of the Korcari Wilds, which would surely have been destroyed by the darkspawn by now. It had been a full week since the battle at Ostagar. But the Blight was spreading faster than any of them could have imagined.

And now, as one of the last Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden, it was his solemn duty to gather an army to stop it.

"D'you think they know who we are?" Stryder muttered to Alistair.

The man shrugged, glancing around. "Well, _we_ might be able to blend in... but Miss Apostate over there sticks out like a sore thumb."

Morrigan glared at him, her yellow eyes narrowed. From their first meeting, Stryder couldn't help but notice how enchanting she was. Those plump, dark lips that seemed to tease him from afar, yet warning him from getting too close. She was dangerous, that much was certain; yet the air of mystique surrounding the witch made her all the more intriguing to him. But he was not fool enough to become enamored with her. Women like Morrigan were cunning; they played coy up until the exact moment a man was ensnared in their webs, and then they went for the kill.

Seeing as he had no desire to test his luck, he simply envisioned the possibilities rather than pursue them.

"Need I remind you, Alistair, that it was through an _apostate's abilities_ your life was spared?" Morrigan spat icily. "Or perhaps 'tis easier for you to simply forget what you cannot comprehend."

"Oh, I get it. This is where you attempt to justify being a total b—"

Stryder held a hand up, interrupting them. "That's enough from both of you. You're drawing attention."

Sure enough, a tall and muscular man was pacing back and forth along the path into the town, eyeing them with some degree of interest. The flaming sword of mercy was emblazoned on the front of his armor, marking him as a Templar. Stryder had only seen Templars on the few occasions that some of the castle servants showed potential for using magic. They passed through without a word and collected their quarry, only shedding blood when they were met with resistance. The Templars always won.

He stepped in front of them, crossing his arms. For a moment, Stryder wondered if the man had overheard Alistair and Morrigan's conversation; but he seemed too distracted to notice the mage. Magnus stood at his master's side, ready to pounce on the Templar if he showed any signs of hostility.

"Lothering can't take any more refugees. You'll have to go elsewhere," he said brusquely.

"We're just passing through," Stryder replied with a polite smile. "Though a bit of rest and a mug of ale might hasten our return to the roads."

The man grunted. "I knew you didn't seem the type. Better armed than most of the people here, including us Templars. These poor sods have been flooding in over the past few days... they say darkspawn have been attacking their villages and farmsteads. Didn't believe 'em till I killed one myself. Nasty creatures, they are."

For a moment, Stryder considered revealing that he was a Grey Warden. They were, of course, accustomed to fighting the darkspawn; perhaps the villagers would feel more at ease with their presence in Lothering. Yet something one of the bandit lackeys they had encountered earlier was weighing heavily on his mind. The bandit had called them "king-killers" and looked at Stryder as if he had grown a second head. His instincts were telling him to keep his identity as a Warden secret, and his instincts were seldom wrong.

"We're heading north, ourselves. But with so little word on the Highway, it's impossible to tell which rumors are true..." he trailed off, allowing the Templar to think.

"There's a tavern here by the name of Dane's Refuge. Speak with Danal if you need information. Otherwise most folks look to Elder Miriam. Or Ser Bryant, I suppose; he's in the Chantry."

Stryder nodded. "Hmm. Alright, I believe I will. Thanks for the help."

The Templar stood aside to let them in. Magnus barked once, bounding across the town with his tongue lolling out. Stryder laughed to himself, quietly appreciating the mabari's happy-go-lucky nature. At least someone still found the ability to be happy during such dark times.

Since the day he had arrived at Ostagar with Duncan, he had attempted to focus his efforts on becoming a Grey Warden. Even in the Korcari Wilds, when he had found no sign of Fergus (save for a wounded soldier who hadn't seen his brother in days), he hadn't let the direness of the situation get to him. There was no time to properly grieve for his family, and he had made sure to keep his noble lineage a secret to both of his traveling companions.

The less questions they asked, the less he would have to think about it.

Suddenly, a small figure darted by, carrying a large amount of elfroot in her arms. She looked young, hardly a girl of eighteen, with pretty black tresses that trailed behind her as she ran. An angry-looking man with rather poor facial hair was following her, shouting curses at the girl as she fled. Stryder frowned, then purposefully stepped between the two. She stopped, breathing heavily as she clutched the plants closer to her chest protectively.

"Is there a problem, ser?" Stryder inquired, watching the girl from the corner of his eye. She didn't run away. That was a start, he supposed.

The older man couldn't seem to pick a person to scowl at. "That little wretch stole my merchandise, and I want it back!"

"I didn't _steal_ anything. I told you I would pay for it later, but Elder Miriam needs this now," she piped up, her voice surprisingly steady.

The sincerity in her plea caused him to hesitate. Now was not the time to be fighting amongst themselves, especially with the Blight at hand.

He thought for a moment. The rogue had years of experience in persuading even the most stubborn of individuals to cooperate with him, and if he played his cards right, this merchant would be no different.

"Do you have any family?" Stryder asked, giving the man his most charming smile. "I couldn't imagine being a father in times like these. The things one would do to protect the people he loves."

"I... fail to see what that has to do with anything."

Stryder gestured towards the fields beyond the clearing. "Look there. I would guess over a hundred families have fled their homes to end up here. Surely just a few plants could be spared to help these poor souls? I'm sure they would be grateful."

He paused. _Just enough to make him doubt himself, and no more._

The merchant hesitated, his anger dwindling. He scratched his excuse of a beard almost pensively.

"Hmm... fine. But make sure they know who helped them when they needed it most."

Stryder cast a glance at the girl and winked. A hint of a smile played on his smooth lips. "Oh, they will. I'm certain of it."

The man let out a loud _harrumph,_ muttering something under his breath as he returned to his wagon.

Stryder breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, then," he began, turning to her once more with amusement gleaming in his blue eyes, "It's not every day I get the chance to help a pretty lady in need."

She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, which were a light shade of amber. She wore a red scarf around her neck, offsetting the fairness of her skin. "Oh? You think I'm pretty?"

"One would have to be blind to not see such beauty before them, truly," he said without missing a beat. "If I may ask, what is your name?"

"Bethany." She held the bundle of elfroot in one arm and extended her free hand gracefully. Stryder leaned forward and gently kissed the back of it.

"Charmed to make your acquaintance. I am Stryder, and these are my companions." he motioned towards the others. Alistair waved awkwardly, and Morrigan simply made a noise of disgust. Bethany reached down to pet Magnus, who was eager to introduce himself with a friendly bark and a few sloppy kisses.

"Our family has a dog. His name is Ghost. But you're much prettier... don't tell him I said that," she giggled.

"Magnus is quite good at keeping secrets, actually," he stated matter-of-factly, "You've nothing to fear."

" _'The mabari is clever enough to speak, and wise enough to know not to.'_ Or so the saying goes."

Stryder smiled a bit wistfully. "Yes, I believe I've heard that before."

She opened her mouth to reply when she seemed to remember something important. Stryder noticed the almost-inconspicuous staff strapped loosely to her back. It was vaguely reminiscent of Morrigan's, who hadn't taken precautions to hide it from the locals. _'If they dare to approach me, then their own foolishness shall be their undoing, not I.'_ she had said. Still, he should have recognized that Bethany was a mage, for she could very easily have electrocuted him or frozen him solid under any other circumstance. The idea that he had let down his guard so soon was a bit... unsettling.

He would have to be more careful about that in the future.

"I nearly forgot. The Elder needs these for her poultices," Bethany said, gazing across the bridge cutting Lothering in half. Beyond that were more scattered clusters of people, both townfolk and refugees, talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Sometimes their eyes would wander towards their party, and then the whispers would continue.

 _Ah, typical. I suppose they'll mug us later._ Stryder sighed inwardly, then grinned at the mage. "Perhaps I could be of service?"

She handed him the herbs.

"Such a gentleman." she said. "My brother would like you."

She began to tell them about her siblings. One of them, her twin, had gone to Ostagar with the king's army. They hadn't heard from him since the battle. Stryder nodded sympathetically, an image of Fergus flashing in his mind. He felt a deep pang of sadness upon realizing his own brother had probably met a similar fate in the Wilds.

"You got a bed for the night? You taken care of...?"

A bout of wheezing coughs snapped him out of his thoughts. "W-what?"

The old woman in front of him looked exhausted. Her white hair was pulled back with only a few loose strands to betray how busy she had been before their arrival. The lines on her face were quite deep and gave her a permanent frown, yet her eyes were bright and razor-sharp.

"Elder Miriam, here's the elfroot you needed," Bethany answered kindly. She took the herbs back from Stryder and gave them to the old woman.

"I can't thank you enough, my dear. So many have come to me with injuries and sicknesses, but there's been so little to go 'round... this should give them a speedy recovery, Maker willing."

Bethany looked at the ground, giving a sheepish laugh. "Actually, it was thanks to my, er, _friend_ here that I was able to get them at all."

"This charming young lad?" she raised an eyebrow, breaking the frown with an odd smirk. "Oh, yes. I see. A friend, indeed."

"It's not like that!" Bethany shook her head, blushing a bit. "I mean, we hardly know each other."

"Of course, dear. I won't tell your mother." Elder Miriam turned her scrutinizing gaze onto Stryder. "As for you... well, thank you. The world needs more of your kind to protect it nowadays. Especially Lothering."

Stryder gave a respectful nod. "I would like nothing more, however I'm afraid we'll be moving on shortly. There's something my friend and I have to do."

He and Alistair exchanged solemn glances. Soon, things would become more complicated than the occasional bands of darkspawn or bandits. Part of Stryder was eager to test his skills against greater threats, but he also loathed the thought of being one of the only people in Ferelden who could end the Blight. Terrifying, yet thrilling.

"Well, in any case, we'll be staying at the tavern for a bit," Stryder continued. "Traveling would be difficult on an empty stomach."

Bethany sighed quietly. "I suppose I should go back home, then. Mother hasn't been well since the teyrn's men first came to town. I expect they'll be drinking themselves silly, by now. Good luck and be well... Stryder."

"And the same to you, Lady Bethany."

She left after a quick, clumsy curtsy and set along the path towards the outskirts of the village, her face bright red. Stryder excused himself from the Elder's presence and began to stroll towards the inn. The sign read _'Dane's Refuge'_ and looked ready to fall at any moment onto the nearest passerby's head. A clamor of loud voices could be heard from inside.

"Alright. Spill your secrets. Where did you learn to do that?" Alistair asked him, pure amazement written all over his face.

"Do what?" Stryder replied with a wolfish grin.

"Y'know... _that_. Seducing women..."

"I would hardly call that seduction. It's not as if I bedded her," he scoffed. "Wait... don't tell me you've never flirted before?"

Alistair's sudden lack of clever responses almost made Stryder laugh aloud.

"Surely you can't be serious! Ah, but if you've never flirted, then I suppose you've never..." he snickered.

"I don't want to talk about it," his fellow Grey Warden muttered, and that was the end of the conversation.

They entered the tavern, watchful of the swarms of people crowded inside. No doubt some of them were skilled pickpockets; Stryder himself knew enough about thievery to understand when someone was an easy target. His hand moved over the hidden pocket underneath his armor where he carried his coin purse. It was safe enough for the time being. He noticed suddenly that the refugees and townsfolk around him had parted to let the small party pass. There was fear in their eyes.

"Well, look what we have here, men. I think we've just been blessed."

A self-important man clad in newly polished armor was smirking at them. More soldiers from around the tavern began to form a tight half-circle around him. A few of them struggled to leave their seats, stumbling over to join their leader, who also appeared quite intoxicated. _Looks like someone's had a few too many,_ Stryder thought, somewhat amused.

"Uh-oh. Loghain's men." Alistair said, turning to Stryder with a worried expression. "This can't be good."

Another soldier in splintmail stepped forward. He seemed somewhat sharper than the rest. "Hmm. A rogue with long black hair and a tattoo on his face who _reeks_ of noble arrogance. Didn't we spend all morning looking for a fellow by this very description? And everyone said they hadn't seen him?"

The soldier commander's face darkened. "It seems we were lied to."

Stryder was about to respond when a pretty girl with fiery red hair stepped in. She was wearing the clothes of a Chantry Sister.

"Gentlemen, surely there's no need for trouble," she said smoothly, glancing between the two groups, "These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge."

"They're more than that!" the commander snapped. "Now stay out of our way, Sister _._ You protect these _traitors_ , you'll get the same as them."

"Hold on, now. What makes you think we're traitors?" Stryder challenged, crossing his arms.

The Sister turned to him and spoke quickly; her accent was rather curious, he thought. "Teyrn Loghain claims the Grey Wardens betrayed the king... or hadn't you heard?"

Stryder grunted. "I suppose I was hoping people wouldn't be foolish enough to believe the rumors. Once again, it seems I am disappointed."

"Enough talk. Take the Warden into custody. Kill the sister and anyone else that gets in your way!" the commander barked, drawing his sword.

"Right." the younger soldier nodded. "Let's make this quick."

Instantly, the tavern erupted into battle. Alistair let out a war cry and charged straight into the soldiers, remarkably fast despite his size and heavier armor. He carried his shield with skill and struck with precision as if it were a part of his own body. Morrigan was having immense fun shooting fireballs at the men, laughing as their screams filled the room when metal armor turned white-hot against skin. The smell of burning flesh and spilled blood was pungent.

It didn't escape Stryder's notice, however, that the Sister was holding her own against two of the warriors. She was sporting a rather wicked looking dagger, slashing at them and dipping out of reach with ease. She was merely toying with them. A most uncommon skill for a woman of the Chantry, yet it was...

 _Impressive._

Steel rang on steel as Stryder took down a few of them, letting his dagger slip into the weak spots between plates of armor. He wouldn't kill them, not yet; just enough to gravely injure them, and if they proved to be a real threat, then finishing the job would be easy. His face stung a bit as something hot dripped down his cheek. He was vaguely reminded of the sparring matches his family used to hold in Highever. Fergus was a warrior, a true terror against real enemies, but he was no match against his little brother's graceful maneuvers. What the rogue lacked in strength he more than made up for in cunning. Agile steps and quick thinking were what made him a formidable opponent.

Stryder snarled as he rushed the commander, dodging blows from the man's sword as it came swinging over his head. It seemed the soldiers had given up on taking him as prisoner.

The sword came crashing down, barely giving him enough time to roll out of the way. The blade lodged itself into the wooden floor with a _thwack_ and refused to come loose, despite the man's attempts to remove it from the floorboards.

The rogue pushed all of his weight into the next blow. He braced his shoulder and rammed into the commander. The man's head snapped upwards as he was thrown across the room from the sheer force behind the move. His now severely crooked nose was gushing blood, coating the lower half of his face. The man howled a string of curses before Stryder was upon him again and he was fighting for his life.

As the commander's last ally fell unconscious, he threw his weapon to the ground and scowled. "All right, you've won! We surrender!"

"Good. They've learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting, now." the Sister remarked, sounding irritated.

"Then let's get something straight. The Grey Wardens didn't betray King Cailan," Stryder growled, aching to punch something. "Loghain did."

The commander glared at him. "I was there! The teyrn pulled us out of a trap!"

"The teyrn left the king to die," he retorted.

"The Wardens led the king to his death! The teyrn could do nothing!"

But Stryder's patience had reached its limit. In one swift, fluid motion he had knocked the commander to the ground and held him at sword-point. The man's eyes met his disbelievingly before he realized that the tip of a longsword was a hair's breadth from his throat. He gulped. There was complete silence in the room, the tension palpable as everyone watched the Warden rogue.

"Take a message to Loghain." his voice was harsh and unforgiving.

The commander nodded, careful not to provoke the Grey Warden's fury. "W-what do you want to tell him?"

Stryder grinned, but there was no humor behind it. He laughed mirthlessly.

" _He'll have to do better than this._ "

* * *

 **AN: Well, there you have it! I actually didn't expect this to be such a long chapter, but I'm pleasantly surprised at how much I was able to write. Sorry that most of this was dialogue, but I felt it was necessary to bring Lothering into the story seeing as it's the first place you go after becoming a Grey Warden and starting your quest to save the world and all that. Plus it was an excellent opportunity to begin working on character development without rushing too far into the plot. Anywho, I'm gonna rest for a bit, cause I'm currently battling a headache and nausea.**

 **THANK YOU FOR READING, AND I WILL SEE YOU IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!**


	3. Chapter II- The Arl of Redcliffe

**Disclaimer:** ** _Certain parts of the 'original' story-line will be changed_. This is NOT to claim ownership of _Dragon Age_ or any of its characters, but simply because this is my Warden's story (and sometimes I can't help myself, haha.) This is the life he has lived, and I will defend that. Otherwise, I'll try to update regularly. I look forward to hearing feedback from anyone who happens across this book!**

 **HOMOPHOBIA AND RACISM WILL NOT BE TOLERATED, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. THANK YOU!**

* * *

Chapter II- The Arl of Redcliffe

* * *

 _He was standing on top of a cliff and looking down at the river of lava coursing far beneath his feet. It seemed to extend forever, winding a path through the jagged cliffs that smelled of brimstone and blood. The air should have been stagnant, but it was electrified. It was evil. He couldn't explain why, but there was something off about the entire situation. He had never seen this place before in his life. But where was he?_

 _Suddenly, his head began pounding as whispers in an old tongue coursed through his mind and threatened to engulf his thoughts. He focused on the lava_ _— no, those were torches, and they were being carried by an entire horde of darkspawn. Thousands upon thousands of them, all amassing beneath the bridge that covered the gigantic chasm before him. The howls and snarls that rose from the depths would haunt him for the rest of his life._

 _And then the visions changed. He felt its presence before he could see it, but there it was. A gigantic, armored beast stood before him, its tattered wings outstretched, each the size of a slaver's ship. Its skin was decaying and fell in stringy pieces to reveal the bone underneath. A festering maw filled with rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth that could pierce even the strongest armors. He felt the urge to vomit. This was no ordinary dragon._

 _Something was very, very wrong._

 _It released a deafening roar across its massive army as they stood at attention. Stryder felt his entire body go cold, realizing he could almost understand what it was commanding. His mind slipped into the darkness as the creature loosed its corrupted flames into the air. He could feel the heat of the fire upon his skin, burning his face. Yet he was powerless to stop it until the void swallowed him and the nightmare before him dissipated into nothingness._

He sat up on his bedroll, sweat droplets rolling down his face. His heart leapt into his throat. " _Ah_...!"

"Bad dreams, huh?"

It took a moment before he realized that it was Alistair speaking and not something else from his dreams to torment him. He became painfully aware of the throbbing behind his eyes, undoubtedly the beginning of a rather nasty headache. He shivered after a moment, then regained his composure. Leaders were calm and collected. They weren't supposed to show fear.

"I-it must have been something I ate," Stryder waved dismissively. "Though I'll admit, it did seem real."

"Well it _is_ real... sort of," Alistair replied, frowning. "You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was. Hearing them."

The rogue felt vaguely uncomfortable. " _Hearing them_? Are you quite sure?"

"The archdemon, it... 'talks' to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight."

Stryder waited to see if he was joking. But Alistair only turned his gaze towards the campfire, his face set in a solemn expression as the flames danced across charred wood.

"The archdemon...?" he finally said. Suddenly, it clicked. "Is that the dragon?"

"I don't know if it's really a dragon, but it sure looks like one. But yes, that's the archdemon." Alistair sighed, then smiled reassuringly. "It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't."

Stryder felt his body go cold with pure dread.

"Yeah, me neither," he lied.

"Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary at first for me, too."

Stryder raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Any other surprises I should know about?"

"Other than dying young and the whole defeat-the-Blight-alone thing? No, I'm all tapped out for surprises," Alistair scoffed, rising from his seat by the fire. "Anyhow, you're up now, right? Let's pull up camp and get a move-on."

It was decided within the hour that Redcliffe would be their next destination. Alistair had some fine points on the advantage of having Arl Eamon on their side, one being the man's substantial influence on the lords and ladies of Ferelden. After all, Loghain was a threat that needed to be dealt with, and quickly. In addition to that, the arl was rather well-known for having an army of skilled knights who obeyed his every command. If they could convince him to help, that meant his forces could be turned towards the Blight.

Stryder got the feeling that there was something more to it than a mere suggestion. Alistair would dodge the conversation at nearly every turn, and despite brief comments that implied there was more to the story, he seemed tense whenever Stryder spoke of the man. From what little he knew, Arl Eamon had been a sort of father-figure to a young Alistair; that was, until the Arlessa sent him to a monastery in Bournshire. Stryder had visited the town with his father on important business, once. And it was incredibly dull.

As for their other companions, the rogue was incredibly curious about their two newest additions. As of those early morning hours, they had been traveling together for three days. Sten was a muscular and annoyingly literal qunari who seemed to enjoy any questions about his past. For someone who had been in a cage for nearly two weeks, he seemed less than pleased with his fellow travelers. And then there was Leliana, a bard and devout follower of the Chant. He thought it strange that one could be a bard _and_ a lay sister, seeing as the job descriptions were complete opposites. However, she explained that most of the sisters had similar backgrounds and that many simply chose to find solace in the Maker.

As if that hadn't been enough, the two dwarven merchants they had rescued outside of Lothering had decided to join Stryder and his followers on their travels. One of which, Sandal Feddic, knew how to fold lyrium as well as a senior enchanter. Or so his father boasted. Though the boy was admittedly simple, he was very talented at his work and was more than happy to lend them a hand. As for Bodahn and Sandals' origins, it seemed like a question for another time. Nonetheless, the dwarves had agreed to accompany them for as long as Stryder required the use of obscurely-collected merchandise.

It had been a strange month, to say the least. Yet, somehow, Stryder wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Some six days later, the landscape began to change. They kept Lake Calenhad in sight, traveling along the edge of it when the harsh terrain that made up most of Ferelden became too difficult to traverse. The Hinterlands were brutal and mountainous with forests that seemed to stretch on forever. The Hinterlands were also abundant in elfroot, which made for better healing supplies. Thankfully, very few darkspawn had dared to venture much further into the kingdom, so the majority of threats came from animals and bandits.

"They're all so eager to die, aren't they?" Stryder sighed as he crouched by the body of a large wolf. He brightened up. "Ah, well. Another point for me!"

Alistair grimaced. "You're rather cheerful for someone soaked in blood."

Stryder looked down at his armor. It was splashed in scarlet and smelled absolutely horrible. His weapons matched.

"I suppose I'm just used to being covered in foreign substances," the rogue laughed, wiping a few droplets of sweat and blood from his cheek. "And before you ask, yes. I know _exactly_ how that sounds."

"Er, right..." Alistair responded awkwardly, clearing his throat. "I think we're getting close, by the way."

"We did seem to hit it off rather well, didn't we?"

The blond rolled his eyes. "To Redcliffe, I mean."

"How long until we actually reach it, then?" Stryder asked, stepping over the corpse of an unlucky traveler left to rot by the roads. His belongings had already been picked through, sadly.

"Well, if I remember correctly, it should be..." he trailed off, hiking up the nearest outcropping of rocks. He jumped across to a grass-covered ledge overlooking the lake. "...just ahead."

Stryder followed suit and climbed up the rocks. He was lucky enough to find flat footing and reached up to scale the next few. Alistair extended a hand, which he gratefully took, and with their combined efforts he was soon gazing across the lake in complete awe.

Their position overlooked the entirety of Redcliffe, which seemed so small from a distance, and a bit further away was a huge grey castle perched on tall cliffs above the lake. Rain clouds hovered on the horizon, making everything beyond them impossible to spot. The dark, lapping waters went on as far as the eye could see.

Above them, an osprey floated along the cool wind currents, its sharp yellow eyes on Stryder and Alistair. It sailed over the tree tops casually before turning its focus towards the waters far below. Without warning it let out a screech and shot past them with blinding speed, straight into the glassy surface of Lake Calenhad. The bird emerged moments later with a fish before disappearing once more into Ferelden's wilderness.

"Wow. I had no idea Redcliffe was so..."

"Scenic? Picturesque?" Alistair laughed. "It may look peaceful now, but just wait until you get down there. I remember the town square was always so busy. You had to really watch your feet, or people would step all over you."

"So you grew up here, then." Stryder concluded.

"I mentioned already that Arl Eamon was sort of like a father to me." Alistair smiled hesitantly, then turned away from Stryder's gaze. "But it wasn't until Duncan came and... and... nevermind. We should, uh, probably get moving."

He coughed, then hopped down the rocks. He was surprisingly nimble for a man of his size. Stryder watched him leave but didn't bother objecting. After all, it wasn't his place to pry. And despite his piqued interest, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. If Alistair wanted to talk about it, he would do so in his own time.

They continued along the path through a small patch of woodland. It was eerily quiet, as if every animal in the forest had disappeared. The group pushed forward, no one daring to break the silence that had settled over the area. There were cart tracks in the dried mud that swerved across the trail as if someone had been in a hurry to leave town. Several footprints led further into the woods, broken branches and flattened bushes carving a route through the underbrush. The footprints stopped mysteriously, and there was no sign that anyone had traveled through recently.

"They were being hunted." Morrigan's certain tone caused a chill to roll down his spine.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Stryder ran a hand through his hair, his eyes narrowing. "Something's not quite right in this place."

The party continued walking until they had found a suitable place to make camp. From their position on the cliffs most of the village was visible. Seeing as neither of them had equipment, it was decided that Sten and Leliana would be better suited to setting up camp. The qunari was displeased to hear that he would be pitching tents instead of drawing blood, but even he relented under the Warden's stern command. Bodahn and Sandal welcomed all the help they could get and were more than happy to put Sten to work with chopping logs for the fire.

As for the rest of them, Stryder and his remaining companions found the narrow road leading into Redcliffe and set off immediately. It was just past noon, and the sun was blazing hot in the sky. The only relief was an occasional gust of wind that brought the smell of the lake with it. There were a few overturned carts along the way, all of them abandoned in the same member, and all of them missing passengers. Magnus sniffed around one such cart, then picked up a small ragdoll between his teeth and brought it to his master.

Stryder crouched down to pick it up. It was a child's doll from the looks of it, probably belonging to a little girl. Dried blood stained the front of the toy as its melancholy button eyes peered up at him. He delicately placed the doll in his pocket. The others watched him without a single word.

"What? Whoever this belongs to will want it back, yes?" he muttered, standing up and taking lead once more.

By now it was obvious that something terrible had happened in Redcliffe. For a moment Stryder wondered if the darkspawn had gotten there before they had, but he assured himself that the thought was simply impossible. A group of darkspawn would have left carnage in its wake, but so far there had been no severed heads on pikes or bodies ripped apart by foul blades... even more tellingly, there were no darkspawn corpses to be found. And that was a very, very good thing.

The rogue was so involved in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the sudden lack of Alistair's commentary. He looked across his shoulder at the blond, who was shuffling a few feet behind them. Stryder stopped in his tracks, almost causing the man to walk straight into him.

Alistair jumped in surprise. "Whoa! Uh, why are we stopping?"

"You seem nervous, Alistair," Stryder replied, his eyes narrowing. "Are you alright?"

He chewed on the edge of his lip, considering the question with great forethought. Slowly, he shook his head.

"Look, can we talk for a moment? I need to tell you something I, ah, probably should have told you earlier," Alistair said, rubbing the base of his neck.

"Oh, this should be good!" Morrigan exclaimed with sheer delight. "What dark secrets could our very own templar be hiding from us?"

Alistair shot her a dirty glare. "Won't you just toss yourself from the cliffs already?"

"Morrigan, wait for us by the bridge. We'll catch up later," Stryder directed calmly.

With a few complaints under her breath, Morrigan stalked down the trail alongside Magnus. As soon as she had disappeared from view, the expression on Alistair's face shifted from irritation to distress. He turned to Stryder and began twisting the small golden ring on his finger.

Stryder watched him with crossed arms. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"I don't know. I doubt it. I've never liked it, that's for sure."

 _And here he goes. This can't be good._ Stryder sighed. "Well, let's get on with it then. The suspense is killing me."

"I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right?" he started, as they met gazes. "That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?"

"Hmm. Yes, I seem to recall something of the sort," the rogue replied nonchalantly.

"The reason he did that was because... well, because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my... half-brother, I suppose."

Stryder inhaled sharply. He had made casual note of the resemblance, but to think he was traveling with the brother of the late king, it hadn't crossed his mind. Alistair grimaced slightly, waiting on his response.

"So." Stryder began jokingly, biting back the rising panic. "You're not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?"

Alistair snorted. "Ha! Yes, I guess it does at that. I should use that line more often. I would have told you, but... it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule, and so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone."

"I'm not angry, Alistair. There are things I haven't told you, either," Stryder said, rubbing his chin. "Though I wish you would have said something sooner."

Alistair's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me... even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it! I didn't want you to know, as long as possible. _I'm sorry_."

"Apology accepted. Believe me, I understand."

" _Whew._ Good. I'm glad. It's not like I got special treatment for it, anyhow," Alistair shook his head. "At any rate, that's what I had to tell you. I thought you should know about it."

"Are you sure? We're here now, so if you're hiding anything else, you'd better spill it now," the rogue smiled.

Alistair grinned back at him. "Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That's it. Just the prince thing."

They started down the path leading to the village. Stryder could already hear Morrigan scolding his hound; he had probably gotten into her herbs again. Troublesome dog.

"So... shall I start calling you Prince Alistair, then?"

"No! Maker's breath, just hearing that gives me a heart attack!" he rolled his eyes. "It's not true, anyhow... I'm the son of a commoner. It was always made clear that the throne is not in my future."

"But imagine the possibilities! Wouldn't you rather be living in your own castle, wearing silk robes while pretty servants feed you candied grapes and tell you how handsome you are?"

Alistair glanced at Stryder incredulously. "Royals actually do that?"

"How should I know? I'm not of royal blood," Stryder laughed. "But it sounds fun, doesn't it? The most we have to look forward to is killing darkspawn and climbing into cold bedrolls at the end of the day."

"And that's fine by me. No, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he is Cailan's uncle... and more importantly, very popular with the people." Alistair said, then bit his lip. "Though... if he's really as sick as we've heard... no, I don't want to think about that. I really don't."

"Well, there's only one way to find out, I suppose. And we'd better not keep Morrigan waiting, or she'll turn us into toads." Stryder replied.

"Pfft. She wasn't actually being serious about that... was she?"

"Do you really want to find out?"

Alistair didn't respond.

Together again, they made it to the bridge, where a young man was waiting for them.

There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was pale. Stryder had seen that look before in the eyes of deer and rabbits. The subtle raise of his dagger as they approached, the wariness in his eyes as he spoke in a voice filled with exhaustion. Like an animal grasping onto its will to survive.

That was the look of a man being hunted.

* * *

Bann Teagan Guerrin was, by all accounts, not a very imposing man. He wasn't terribly tall, nor was he as muscular as half the bandits they had come across during their travels. Yet seeing his face was enough to send a chill down Stryder's spine.

Teagan was the bann of Rainesfere, a small province nestled between the Frostback Mountains and Lake Calenhad. He was a brother to Arl Eamon and the late Queen Rowan. But he was also a friend of the Couslands. Though the banns of Ferelden were beneath the arls in status, together they still had a considerable amount of influence in the Landsmeet.

Bryce Cousland was a teyrn, and beloved by all who knew him. His father had always loved the outdoors, a passion he had passed on to both of his sons. Stryder was only six when he first attended one of his father's hunts.

The hunts themselves were a strategic political move, yet his father had always been so genuine in getting to know their guests. It wasn't hard to understand why nearly everyone had loved him. Many of the banns were there, as were Arl Eamon and Arl Howe. It nearly made Stryder sick to remember the days when he would try to impress Howe, who had been a sort of uncle figure to him as a child.

It had only been a few years since last seeing Bann Teagan, but Stryder recognized him almost immediately. He could only hope that the bann didn't also remember him.

"Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan, bann of Rainesfere, brother to the arl..."

Stryder pushed his memories to the back of his mind. Now was not the time to think of the past. He smiled politely at Bann Teagan and extended a hand in welcome. The man took it readily, seeming grateful that they had come.

Alistair took a few steps forward. "I remember you, Bann Teagan, though the last time we met I was a lot younger and... covered in mud."

"Covered in mud...?" the bann rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His face split into a wide grin. "...Alistair? It is you, isn't it? You're alive! This is wonderful news!"

"Still alive, yes, thought I'm just as surprised about that as you are, believe me." Alistair sighed.

Teagan nodded. "Indeed. Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died along with my nephew, amongst other things."

"Why? What has Loghain said about us?" Stryder asked, frowning.

"That Loghain pulled out his own men in order to save them. That Cailan risked the entire nation's safety in the name of glory," Teagan said. "He calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don't believe it. It is the act of a desperate man."

"I see. We've picked up rumors during our travels, but I truly had no idea the extent of Loghain's lies."

Stryder was suddenly aware of several pairs of eyes watching him. He looked around, eventually spotting a group of children watching him from behind the corner of a bookshelf. When they realized they had been found, they ducked away from his gaze and began whispering rather loudly. Teagan, amused, watched them for a moment before turning to the rogue and growing somber.

"You're here to see my brother? Unfortunately, that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill," he said, grimacing. "No one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts.

"The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil... things... surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault."

Stryder looked around. Now that he thought about it, the Chantry was rather crowded. It was almost as bad as Lothering, and the people here were just as terrified. They had left Lothering a little over a week ago, making frequent stops at towns in between there and Redcliffe to gather more information about the political storm brewing in Ferelden. At one of those stops a tavernkeeper had told them that Lothering was gone, burned to the ground by the darkspawn horde.

The Blight would destroy everything in its wake. Anything it could touch would forever be tainted and fall into ruin. And it wouldn't stop with Ferelden- Orlais, the Free Marches, even Antiva would have to face it someday. The archdemon had to be slain. But without Arl Eamon's support, Stryder wasn't sure it was possible to raise his own army. He needed more than men.

He needed _help._

"Alright. I can help you drive them back."

Teagan and the soldiers that flanked him loosely on both sides stared at him incredulously. Even Alistair was surprised to hear it. Morrigan groaned and shook her head. She massaged her temples and paced back and forth.

"How pointless to help these villagers fight an impossible battle," she said in a tone laced with scorn. "One would think we had enough to contend with elsewhere."

"It's only impossible if we don't try. Besides, the arl might be in danger," Stryder replied evenly.

"Thank you! Thank you, this... means more to me than you can guess." Teagan smiled, then turned to the young man who had led them into town. "Tomas, please tell Murdock what transpired. Then return to your post."

"Yes, my lord."

Tomas nodded to the Grey Wardens and walked hurriedly towards the large oak doors at the end of the hall. He had to push his way through clusters of townsfolk who were busy setting up their own places to sleep in order to get by.

Teagan ran a hand through his hair. "Now then. There is much to do before night falls. I've put two men in charge of the defense outside. Murdock, the village mayor, is outside the Chantry. Ser Perth, one of Eamon's knights, is just up the cliff at the windmill, watching the castle. You may discuss with them the preparations for the coming battle."

"What about you?" the rogue asked curiously.

"There is much to do inside these walls, and I must busy myself with arrangements here. As the arl's brother, I must keep the peace and prevent these folk from turning on one another."

"Fair enough, I suppose." Stryder said. "We'll be on our way, then."

"Very well. Luck be with you, my friends."

Before leaving, Stryder walked quietly towards the bookshelf. The children were still there, whispering amongst themselves until he approached. It was a group of around six, two of which were little girls. They all hid from view. Suddenly he remembered the fallen carts along the roads. He pulled the doll out of his pocket and stooped down.

"Hello, there. My name is Stryder..." he began softly. "Would any of you happen to know who this belongs to? I'd like to return it."

A few heads poked around the corner of the shelf. One of the little girls, who was decidedly braver than the rest, came out and took the doll from him. She turned it over in her hands as if to examine it. Then she gave it back.

"It's Anya's doll. She's our friend, but she left with her papa after the monsters came," tears gathered in the little girl's eyes. "She loves that doll, mister. She'd never leave it behind... what if they got her, too?"

She began to cry. Something inside of Stryder crumbled a bit. Why did he feel so terrible? Was it because she reminded him of his nephew?

He forced a smile and tried to make his voice sound reassuring. "Don't cry, love. I'll find Anya. And I'm sure she'll be very happy to have her doll back."

"Y-you promise?"

"I promise."

She wiped the tears away and nodded. "Thank you! Please hurry!"

And with that they left. It seemed the entire village was in dire need of assistance, from finding missing children to convincing a drunk blacksmith to reopen his forges. Stryder had searched everywhere for Anya, to no avail. It seemed the entire family had simply vanished. A part of him was relieved they hadn't found anything, because that meant there was still a chance they had made it out of Redcliffe unscathed.

When they first arrived in Redcliffe the sun had barely reached its peak in the sky. Now it was setting, and fast. Once it sank beneath the murky waters of Lake Calenhad, the 'walking dead' would appear to attack the villagers once more. Fortunately the militia was ready to face them. It took a bit of convincing on Stryder's part, but he had gotten a surface dwarf to join the fight and a free round of drinks for the soldiers in the tavern. He also happened to meet an old acquaintance.

As it turned out, Berwick had been recruited by Arl Howe to spy on Redcliffe and to report the comings and goings of travelers. The elf claimed not to recognize him at first and said he was there to meet his brother. A few threats later, he handed Stryder a letter with the Howe insignia stamped across its front. It took everything in the rogue not to lash out, especially when the elf asked about Duncan. It was a good thing the tavern waitress had taken a liking to Alistair- who seemed a bit uncomfortable at the sudden attention- and distracted him from the conversation with Berwick. After receiving the letter, they both settled on the idea that he would help the militia defend Redcliffe during the next attack, and that was that.

"How's our morale?"

"The soldiers' spirits are high. Ser Perth and his knights are hauling the barrels of oil up the path as we speak. Setting fire to the undead seems a bit risky, but I expect you Grey Wardens have done worse to the darkspawn, eh? And I hear someone's got Lloyd giving free drinks to the militia. I suppose that'll keep their minds off of... well, I'm tempted to have an ale or two before tonight, myself."

Murdock was a grim man by all accounts, with dark hair and tan skin that suggested he had worked in the sun most of his life. His face seemed to be set in a permanent weathered scowl, as if he had seen too much war in his lifetime. Yet he carried himself with the dignity of a king protecting his people. Stryder suspected he had fought in the rebellion, but he decided to keep his thoughts private. After all, they had their own battle to plan.

Stryder glanced at the setting sun. "Lloyd agreed to help us, but I expect Dwyn will be doing most of the fighting. He seems capable."

"Capable of a lot of things," Murdock grunted. "Came here to cheat more hard-working commoners out of their coin, I expect, though he wields a sword better than any of us. As for the militia's weapons, repairs are going surprisingly well, considering how drunk Owen is. It's a wonder how that bastard can swing a hammer, let alone do some of his finest work yet."

"I promised I would find his daughter, Valena," the rogue admitted.

"I see. I regret not storming the castle, but I won't risk losing any more of my men," Murdock shook his head. "The bann and I spoke earlier; he said you came to Redcliffe seeking an audience with Arl Eamon? If you Grey Wardens were able to survive Ostagar, then... perhaps you'll be able to get into the castle."

"When the sun comes up, I'll break those walls down myself."

"We just have to make it until dawn," Murdock agreed. "I... have a good feeling about tonight."

"We'll do more than survive, Murdock. We're going to _win._ " Stryder said confidently.

Murdock gave a small laugh. "You sound ready. Are you prepared, Warden?"

"I am. Let's do this."

* * *

His blades sliced through the undead horde as if they were made of paper. It was easy to lose himself in the battle, to enjoy the feeling of his dagger sinking into their decaying skin and exposing bone. Whatever they were, they certainly weren't human anymore. 'Walking corpses' didn't explain the half of it. They were monstrosities, atrocious imitations of real people with a hunger for blood. The most disturbing part was their sense of intelligence; they saw how he cut through their ranks and began to surround him. If it weren't for Morrigan, he might have been overwhelmed by their endless numbers.

The fires didn't slow them down, either— they simply emerged from the flames blackened and burning, the flesh dripping from their bodies like candle wax. The smell was horrible, and it reminded Stryder of the night his home had been taken. It made his eyes water and his stomach turn.

Stryder flew into a whirlwind of fury, striking anything that dared get near. Alistair and Morrigan were holding their own and Magnus completely ravaged whatever made it past them. As for Ser Perth and his knights, they were the last line of defense and prevented any stragglers from making it down the path. It was an effective system and served them well, though Morrigan complained about being so close to the undead. Mages weren't made to last in close combat, apparently.

One corpse fell after another. They hit the dirt with a loud _thud_ and were quickly replaced with another. Stryder's lungs were burning as sweat beads rolled down his cheeks. Dark vile blood was splattered across his face and dried from the heat of the fire. Soon they would have to dwindle... soon there would be a break in the swarm and they would emerge triumphant. Or they would all die trying.

Just as he felt he could no longer swing his sword, the dead stopped coming. He planted his sword in the ground and caught his breath, scanning the area for any signs of their return. They had held their defense at the windmill with a clear view of the castle perched above the lake. The moon was almost full and gave off enough light to see Redcliffe in its entirety. The sight before him was nothing short of a _massacre._ Bodies were strewn about, some piled on top of each other in festering masses and others isolated even in death. Their blood soaked into the earth and turned it black.

For a moment, Stryder panicked. All around him he saw the corpses of people he had killed. And among them he saw faces he recognized.

He knew it wasn't real. Those cold, lifeless eyes didn't belong to his mother. The rotting hand reaching out for him wasn't his father's. But he saw it all the same, and he was staring at the stone walls of the kitchen larder once more. The people he knew and loved were staring up at him as if to confirm his worst fears. _It was his fault they were dead._

His heartbeat was a drum pounding in his ears. Everything else sounded dull and muffled, as if he was underwater and sinking to the bottom. He couldn't stop staring at it, at the mess he had made. The thought of his family's blood coating his blade and his hands sent his mind reeling and almost made him vomit.

He vaguely felt a hand grasp his shoulder and shake him unceremoniously.

"Stryder!"

He snapped out of the vision. "W-wha...?"

"Are you alright? You had us worried there for a moment." It was Alistair. He had seen Stryder's reaction to the aftermath of the defense. "You started to say something, though I couldn't make sense of it."

"I'm sorry. It was... it was nothing," he replied, feeling his face go hot with embarrassment. He shouldn't have let it get to his head. Leaders were supposed to be calm and collected, not break down at the sight of death.

 _How can I kill an archdemon if I can't even control my own thoughts?_

Suddenly, a militiaman came tearing up the path. It was Tomas. The bow strapped across his back looked as good as new— Owen had kept his end of the bargain. Tomas stopped in front of Stryder, his eyes wide with fear.

"The monsters are attacking from the lake! They're attacking the barricades! We need help!"

"You're joking, there's _more_ of them?!" Alistair exclaimed.

"Knights, stay here and guard the path!" Stryder barked roughly, taking his sword and dagger in hand before following Tomas back to the village. As they ran, he swore he spotted a small child from the corner of his eye. But now was not the time for that.

As they approached, the sounds of combat became deafening. The undead had gathered from a different location, some rising from burn piles at the edge of town to attack them once again. The militia was led by Murdock, who had his forces gathered behind the barricades and loosing fire arrows into the horde. Upon their arrival, the clearing in front of the Chantry burst into fighting. The corpses wielded swords of their own covered in rust and the dried remains of those unlucky enough to meet them first.

An arrow whizzed past Stryder's neck. He turned to find it lodged in the eye of reanimated soldier.

"Glad you could make it!" Murdock yelled over the din, notching another arrow into his bow. "Now get over here and help us push them back!"

With their combined forces, Stryder and the militia were able to put many of the dead to rest. The promise of a new day drove them all to stay sharp and quick to kill. Lloyd, confident that the militia was backing him, even charged their ranks. Unfortunately, the soldiers had their own undead to kill and Stryder was too late to react. The tavernkeeper was torn apart before he knew what hit him.

Night passed as quickly as it came. As the dead retreated, the forces of the militia were left standing. Shouts of victory rang through the crisp morning air as a thin layer of mist covered the ground. Stryder felt a rush of energy as the sun's rays shone over the horizon. He looked around. Morrigan was using her magic to heal some of Alistair's wounds. Murdock and his men were too busy congratulating each other to worry about their injuries just yet.

Stryder's grin faded when he saw the last figure standing at the edge of the village.

It was a young girl, no older than five or six. Her skin was ashen grey and her once beautiful eyes were dull. He noticed the bones in one of her legs was jutting out at an odd angle, causing her gait to be a slow, almost pained shamble. She growled at him and began to approach.

The rest of the soldiers fell silent as Stryder knelt down and waited for her. She shuffled towards him slowly, her mouth opening to reveal small blood-stained teeth. He reached out and took her into his arms, drawing his dagger quietly. She was too frail to resist as he slipped the dagger into her back. There was a slight shudder before her body relaxed, slumping against his shoulder. It was over.

He held her close to his chest for a moment, though he knew he couldn't bring her back. He placed her on the ground gently and wiped the blood from his dagger. He became aware of the shadow standing over him.

"I tried to tell him not to leave, but James was stubborn... I only wish he hadn't taken his family with him. Anya didn't deserve this fate. None of them did."

Murdock crouched beside him and drew a hand over her eyes. She looked peaceful now, as if she were only sleeping. Stryder, heartbroken, placed the doll in Anya's hands and folded them over her chest. She was so young. Just another life he couldn't save in the end.

"No more burn piles." Stryder said, his voice cracking. "We give them a proper send off."

Murdock nodded. Nothing they could do would bring any of those people back. But at least they had been able to save more from sharing the same fate. That was all he could hope for, now. He supposed it was lucky they had come to Redcliffe when they did, otherwise the damage may have been truly irreparable.

Stryder stood up, feeling the warmth of the morning light on his face. He felt as if he hadn't seen the sun in years. Behind him, Alistair and Morrigan began bickering viciously. It was followed by a surprised yelp as Morrigan gave him a little shock. When he glanced over, Alistair's hair was sticking up in odd angles caused by friction. He laughed to himself; there was something so familiar about this.

The Chantry doors opened slightly. People were curious to know if the light of day meant they had won. Stryder sheathed his dagger and gave a small wave of assurance to the villagers inside. There was still the matter of cleaning up, however. He sighed and faced the mayor, who looked just as exhausted as he felt. Still, they had _won._ And the castle remained as gloomy and unforgiving and empty as it had the day before. It was time to get back to business.

"My friends and I will help you sort things out here. After that, we're going to find Arl Eamon."

* * *

 **AN (updated): Sorry for the delay. Moved houses and schools, it's been hard to find time to sit down and write lately. Nonetheless, I will be continuing this book. Maybe my updates can be more constant. Feel free to leave a comment or like! I appreciate criticism!**

 **THANKS FOR READING!**


End file.
